To Wherever the Wind Blows
by Vyke95
Summary: Just a compilation of drabbles for the Rusame fandom. Nothing more, nothing less.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, guys. This is what I've been doing with my life xD; When I'm too lazy to actually work on stories and one-shots, I tend to write small drabbles detailing Russia and America's relationship. I'm currently working on the 100 Themes Challenge...it's a good method to create drabbles with a broad prompt. It also helps me improve my writing abilities. So...in order to show you I'm not dead, I'm just going to start uploading these things.**

**Each section is a different drabble. I hope you enjoy them :)**

**(And yes, I'm working on my other works as well. I'm trying to get updated Locked Heart within the next two weeks).**

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There were no need for introductions. When sky blue clashed with amethyst for the first time, recognition lit up their eyes, and knowing, pleasant smirks adorned their features. An inhuman, powerful aura enveloped the nations, distinguishing them as exceptions of the typical species that flooded the Earth.

Alfred's first thoughts were tied between admiration, relief, and nervousness when he first met Russia. Although it didn't show in his pallid, porcelain skin and lush, silvery hair, his lavender eyes were a window to his aged soul. He had endured more than Alfred could have possibly imagined, and the idea of his ancient, ongoing wisdom both provoked and excited the younger nation. He'd heard stories of the Russian's barbaric nature and supposed coldness and cruelty from his former caretaker, though England probably wasn't the most reliable source considering that he tended to have a similar view on most of the nations in Europe. Still, the description was enough to cause a well of anxiety to form in the pit of Alfred's gut and he eyed his new-found acquaintance with slight suspicion. However, overwhelmingly, he accepted the Russian's friendly gestures and kind smiles.

And Russia gave Alfred what he yearned for the most: acceptance. While the other nations in Europe were quite condescending towards America, stating that he wouldn't last long on his own, sneering that his Republican experiment was damned from the start…Russia was uplifting. An outcast of Europe himself, he truly seemed to desire a mutual friendship with the younger nation. He bestowed upon America the respect he craved, and Alfred was forever grateful for it.

Ivan didn't think the younger nation would have as much of an effect on him as he did. America wore his optimism like a badge on his chest, always breaking out into a bright, _warm _smile whenever he gazed up at the taller man. Most people the Russian had encountered tended to see him in a rather negative light: their suspicious eyes piercing into his entity, the low murmurs in which they spoke, the profound distance they kept from the colder nation all provided evidence of that. Ivan couldn't think of another nation who had been this friendly towards him.

And America was an interesting nation. The ideologies of freedom and justice seemed to be lodged into his entity, and the way he lunged towards them full-force was unprecedented. Ivan desired to obtain that energy, that ongoing boisterousness that the youth seemed to have been gifted naturally. The warmth that radiated from his tanned, youthful skin, Ivan wanted that as well. Although he retained his serious, mature facade while America was present, internally he was a giddy child, suppressing a shudder of something akin to happiness whenever that warmth accidentally brushed against being.

With their commonalities and innermost, secret propensities, they anticipated their upcoming relationship wholeheartedly.

* * *

Fervent, passionate kisses pressed eagerly to accepting lips. Roaming hands feeling, touching, _grabbing _whatever they could possibly land their greedy fingers upon. Teeth gently nipping and sucking at plush, creamy skin, eliciting moans and whimpers of _want. _Two opposing forces, each strong and powerful in their own way, colliding in the best of ways to form something flawless and beautiful.

They traced imagined patterns into each others skin in the afterglow of their amorous meetings. A heart on Ivan's chest. A flower on Alfred's belly. This was how they showed their affection. Their limbs left entangled (Ivan for warmth, Alfred for comfort), they murmured sweet nothings to their lover, breaking the pregnant silence composed of panted breaths and clashing lips.

"Beautiful"

"Gorgeous"

But never that word. Never the word they both cherished and feared simultaneously. Never the word they so desperately wanted to hear spill mercifully from their lover's lips, for they were sure it would sound like the sweetest of music. They refused to speak it, not even in a whisper, for they feared it would break the mystical, wonderful relationship they both thrived upon.

Instead, they clung onto their friendship status like a vice. It was easier for them, less complicated. A heart can't break if it was never given, they reasoned. So they kept the word a secret, and never mentioned the simple phrase that was typical of a healthy relationship.

They never muttered an "I love you", and, in the end, their hearts broke all the same.

* * *

Light. It cascades down from the upper windows, illuminating the ever-golden blond that Ivan can't help but adore. The natural, white light reflects off his sumptuous skin, encompassing his youthful frame in an exuberant, fitting glow. The warmth he radiated could compete with the sun.

Ivan wraps his arms around his lover's waist, pressing his cold lips to the nape of the boy's neck as a display of utter affection. Bubbly, but masculine chuckles vibrate throughout his chest, signaling the presence of life and ebullience within his love. He twists his head to meet Ivan's loving gaze and bats his golden, feathery eyelashes, blue orbs burning with passion. With his taut, incandescent skin and dazzling, infectious smile…Ivan's insides melt every time his lover looks at him in such a manner. Like he's the person he treasures most in the world.

And this golden boy was all his.

His warmth. His sunshine. His light. His love.

All his.

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Dark. One would not say that the Russian was afraid of the dark, but oh, did it haunt him so. The lurking blackness did nothing but stir uneasiness within his gut, creeping into his subconscious to retrieve his plaguing innermost thoughts and worries that he had previously mistaken for being long since forgotten. Nightmares and memories replayed themselves in the night, their figures etched into the canvas of a dark room, their swirling, lively actions only visible and real to Ivan's wide, amethyst eyes. He knew it was just the trickery of a dark room; that these ghosts and figures only exist and dwell deep within his imagination, their impressions in the darkness just contortions of his masochistic mind. Nevertheless, they haunted him deeply, forcing an irrational fear to bubble up in his veins, a chilling gust of prickling cool to halter his senses and quicken his erratic heart.

But that was when he was alone. Before he had obtained his warmth, his light, the one who brushed away the enchanting chains of darkness in order to substitute it with the exuberance of the sun. His boisterous young lover would curl into his side, pressing the warmth of his tanned skin into his own pallid, frigid abdomen, placing heated kisses along his collarbone as he whispered sweet, soothing nothings into his ear. Enraptured in his blue-eyed lover's reassurances, the Russian would drift off into deep sleep, pleasantly forgetting of the surrounding darkness entirely.

Of course, even with his sunny lover by his side, nightmares and memories still haunted and toiled with Ivan's disturbed mind, prickling at the seams of his sanity. However, the impact of these disturbances seemed to be nullified by his light's presence, the dark fog of his amethyst eyes dissipating due to the radiance of his lover's warm heart. Every passionate kiss to his lips seemed to soak up and tear away some of his deepest fears and darkest memories, every nip, every peck bringing him closer and closer to resolution. No, his problems would never be fully resolved, but his light brought him great hope, and with every tender touch it truly felt as though resolution was a possible outcome, not just a figment of his chaotic imagination. Not like the ghosts that lingered after dusk.

But like all good things, his comfort was not to last. The darkness of Ivan's soul clashed with the light of his lover, and it soon began to take its toll on their entities. Disagreement, that's how it's always started, that's how it will always start. Snarky quips and silly tussles were soon follow, their bickering as fickle as a fire's flame. At first they deemed nothing of it, refused to speak of their emotions, for if there is nothing wrong, why is there need to discuss such things? However, as the arguments tore on, their negativity soared, and soon it was no longer nothing. It was like a fire: a small and seemingly harmless flicker at first, barely noticeable from a distance, but then as it began to grow and grow, the magnitude of it becomes so apparent that one wonders how it could have possibly been side-stepped to begin with. Like a fire burning and rampaging through a forest, destroying it beyond repair, the lovers' quarrel erupted into a peculiar phenomena, and their tortured screams and hollers resounded throughout the chilling night.

His light's flame flickered, vanquished by the dark. Smoldered and crushed by the insecurities and negativity that raged through Ivan's darkened heart, the light of his lover faded into black, his figure merging and melting with darkness of the night. He danced with the ghosts now, the shadows that flooded the Russian's conscious, feasting on the edges of his sanity. His savior had become his enemy, his fear, his insecurity, his nightmare. The same sort of nightmare that haunted him on the darkest of nights, piercing into his ever-worn heart, gnashing at his hopeless soul. He'd pushed away his light and warmth, and with his constant pushing and smothering, he had smothered his light until he had joined the dark.

And now the dark was all that was left to the insane, lonely man. With the light, his hope was taken, and all that seemed to be left for him was the dreariness of his dismal thoughts.

Left alone to his dark thoughts, the Russian wept.

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So...what do you think? xD; Reviews are appreciated, as usual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Just a quick drabble I wrote last night. I'm sorry to say I won't be able to update anything until school starts back up. I have a lot of summer work that I need to accomplish (because I'm a procrastinating idiot), so most of my attention needs to focused on that. Sorry for such a delay. I really have no excuses. But I am working on them, I promise. **

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**Rot**

It was amazing how the little things in their relationship just seemed to be slowly dissipating.

It wasn't noticeable at first. How the sound of each other's gleeful shrieks and rumbles of absolute bliss became less and less frequent, their doting smiles fading into plastered smirks of ambiguity, their caresses losing the tender intimacy and passion they used to carry. Ivan's fingertips no longer lit a burning fire under his lover's skin whenever they brushed against the boy in the most simple and mediocre of ways. And Alfred's ever-present smile no longer warmed the Russian's heart as it once had.

It wasn't to say that their relationship was bad. While they had their quarrels and meager tussles, neither of them could claim that their arguments provided a rivet in their love and endearment for once another. No, their relationship was simply…fading. The florescent conflagration that had once endured had smoldered down to the ficklest of flames, on the brink of being extinguished entirely. A mere gust of wind was all that stood between the lovers and a dark, empty room. And the worst part was that they didn't know which window that fatal draft would come from.

What could be the cause of such a decay? Surely neither of the men knew for if they did, they would have attempted to amend it. Not that they didn't anyway. The two took shots in the dark: they went on dates, brought home flowers, made each other's favorite food…all of the things they deemed every normal couple did. All of the things they found to be special to one another they amplified. However, it was all to no avail. Their fiery passion continued to wither, along with their fateful relationship.

On one December morning, the two were lounging on the couch, holding each other close out of the habitual need for contact more than anything else. Their expressions were solemn, on the verge of boredom really. A tight smile-if it could even be called that- graced Ivan's lips as he glanced over to his lover, suddenly feeling the urge to break this suffocating silence. He leaned over to his unsuspecting partner and brushed his cold lips against Alfred's temple, taking a moment to inhale his sweet scent. With a hushed whisper, the man droned in a hollow tone, "I love you."

It was second nature for Ivan by now. A ritual. A habit. A phrase he uttered nearly every day regardless of whether they held any true meaning or not. They were merely empty words at this point, and they both knew it.

Alfred didn't even bat an eye. In a similar tone, he challenged, "Do you?"

When he received no response, the blond knew it was over. He released a sigh, whether it be of despair or relief neither of them could tell, and gently brushed Ivan's hands away. Standing up abruptly, Alfred didn't look back once as he headed for the doorway. He gathered his belongings, slipped on his winter jacket, and left the vicinity once and for all. No protests or pleas to stay came forth from Ivan's mouth. Instead, he sat alone in the silence…though this silence he didn't mind. This silence he was used to.

The fickle flame had been extinguished.


End file.
